El Pianista

This is the story of a Saturday
What month does it matter
And of a man sitting at the piano
What old man does it matter
He takes the glass and his hands tremble
Reeking of smoke and sweat
And he clings to his shipwreck board
Returning to his eternal song
Oh lalalalalala lararalararaaaaaa
Play again old loser
You make me feel good
The night of your song is so sad
It tastes like defeat and honey
Every time the mirror on the wall
Reflects back
Younger skin
His eyes light up
And his childhood
Comes to play with Him
But there are always drunks
With beards that remind him of who he was
The youngest piano master
Defeated by a woman
Oh lararalarara lararalarara
She never wanted to put down roots
That could cut her wings
And life was slipping away in the cage
And she wanted to test her strength
She doesn't let him take wrong steps
Although she never wants to add up
But sometimes with fury he hits
The piano and some have seen him cry
Oh lararalarara
Play again
Old loser
You make me feel good
The night of your song is so sad
It tastes like defeat and honey
The microphone smells like beer
And the heat could be felt
Lonely dark ones looking for a partner
Hastily one more Saturday
There's a man clinging to the piano
Emotion soaked in alcohol
And a voice that says you look tired
And the sun hasn't even risen yet
Larararalararara
Play again old loser
You make me feel good
The night of your song is so sad
It tastes like defeat and honey